I have seen the seating chart, because her firm keeps them.

He was at table eleven.

She was working.

And the thing about the timeline that I could not put down for about six months, and that I eventually had to be talked out of holding against myself, is this: for four of those fourteen months, Giselle Marchetti’s father was dying, and a man was driving from Palm Beach to Saint Augustine to sit in that house with her, and telling me he was in Savannah.

He was, at that time, extremely kind to me.

Unusually so.